


Feed

by intergalacticbooty



Series: Dem Kinks Doe [7]
Category: Professional Wrestling, WWE, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Blow Jobs, Domestic Fluff, Food Kink, M/M, Very Brief Mention of Eating Disorders, brief angst, feeder, feederism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 12:14:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10100138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intergalacticbooty/pseuds/intergalacticbooty
Summary: Ambreigns domestic fluff with food.





	

“Have you been feeding this boy properly, little bear?” Roman’s mother asks as Dean shrugs off his leather jacket to hang on the back of the dining room chair, settling next to his husband.

Roman nearly chokes on the biscuit he was eating, giving his mother an exasperated expression, fighting back the urge to roll his eyes. “Mom, c’mon, I’m too damn old for that nickname.” Turning nearly red in the face as Dean snickers.

“He’s feedin’ me just fine, Mrs. Reigns.” Dean starts poking at the meal set before them, nipping at pieces of beef. “Jus’ faster metabolism than him is all.” He always says this when someone mentions his size or something akin to it, but after that comment from Roman’s mother, the older male takes it to heart and starts paying attention.

Sure, his husband eats, but his methods of doing so are strange. He never eats a lot, especially when they’re out eating, tends to pick at food, and always reacts strange whenever Roman tries to feed him. Dean has no problem with grabbing ass in public or kissing Roman when a few homophobes give them dirty looks, but if he so much as tries to feed Dean a kernel of popcorn at the movie theater, it’s the end of the world and he looks at Roman like he’s popped up an extra head.

He notices other things, like how Dean always cooks, that they don’t really go on dinner dates as much as they do stuff like amusement parks or something else with minimal eating, and the fact that Dean’s size 32 pants nearly fall off of him at all times if he doesn’t have a belt. Dean’s not unhealthy and eats plenty, if spaced out and smaller meals, but Roman is still concerned his relationship with food might not be the healthiest.

Apparently bringing that up to him over dinner one night isn’t the best of ideas, because he looks like he’s been shot when Roman asks about it. “I eat just fuckin’ fine, man…’s not like all of us can be miles of muscle wide. Sorry I’m not jacked enough for you, bro.”

“Dean, that’s not…that’s not what I meant.” It’s a little too late, though, because Dean tosses his barely eaten plate of dinner into the sink, shattering it in half before he stomps off to the garage. Roman knows better than to trot out after Dean, especially considering he’s probably working on a special commission for the shop, so he simply finishes his own dinner in silence.

As he contemplates over the slowly empty plate, he decides a more subtle, less brutally honest approach to Dean’s odd eating habits might be better suited. A gentle push instead of putting both feet in 4 feet deep water of ‘let’s have a talk about why you’re so weird about food’. He texts his best friend Seth asking if he wants to go grocery shopping Friday while Dean is at work.

The time between hatching his plan and their little spat about Dean’s eating habits is more than a little tense. Dean won’t even eat dinner with him the next few days and instead huffs off with his plate into the garage after telling Roman dinner is done. It’s disheartening, but they still manage to sleep in the same bed despite Dean’s pissy attitude. Well, he never can deny being a little spoon no matter how annoyed he is with Roman.

It was a little difficult to hide all the groceries from Dean, but using the basement cellar and spare freezer seems to do the trick and when Dean heads into the car shop Saturday morning, Roman sets on cooking up a storm.

He’s forever grateful for his mixed heritage and exposure to any plethora of delicious dishes, all which he knows will hit Dean’s palate right, strange eating habits be damned. He conjures all different kinds of things. Sweet dishes like Samoan Panikeke which are similar to donuts in texture and taste but he tops them with cherries, Keke fa’i which is much like banana cake, fresh cannoli with ricotta filling and chocolate shavings, and Italian tiramisu among other desserts. He doesn’t just make sugary deliciousness, no, but settles for some savory treats as well. Keke pua’a, a delicious pork bun that one of his twin cousins perfected a couple years back, which he stuffs full of beef stew, Sua l’a fish soup, chicken piccata, and traditional spaghetti. Of course he makes a few loaves of fa’apapa, or coconut bread, from scratch, too, from a recipe his mother had actually given him that she had received from his father’s sister.

Dean comes rolling in around 4, just as Roman’s pulling the last loaf of fa’apapa out of the oven and gently unwrapping it. The mixed scents of Italian and Samoan cooking are absolutely heavenly, even to Roman’s own nose and as he looks at the spread all laid out on the dining room table, he thinks he might have outdone himself. His husband slowly filters into the room with wide eyes. “Shit, baby what’s smells so go-…Jesus Christ, Ro. We got family comin’ over?” He pauses for a moment, dopey smile with those sweet dimples. “Didn’t know you could cook so much different shit, babe.”

Roman bites back the urge to say ‘you never let me cook’ and instead takes off Dean’s leather jacket, hanging it on back of the chair that’s at the front of the table. “No, honey, no company, just you and me…” It’s a sultry little purr, that tone he always takes on to try and get Dean relaxed when they’re in for a particularly kinky night. Which is kinda weird, Roman supposes, because there’s nothing kinky about feeding Dean some home cooked meals.

“Um, t-then, uh…wha’s this all about?” Dean looks a little nervous, rubbing at his collarbone that’s connected to his bad shoulder like he tends to do, but Roman keeps that disarming smile, taking Dean’s hand and leading him to sit at the top of the table with his dependable jacket.

“This is all for you, baby…” Roman smiles rather eagerly, pulling a chair up next to Dean. “…I feel just awful about our argument the other day and well, I thought it was only fitting to cook my boy something for once.”

“Thanks, but…shit, Ro…this is a lot, man.” He actually looks like he’s flat out sweating, like he’s ready to bolt from the table any moment, but Roman will be damned if he’s backing down now that he’s finally got Dean here and all this food cooked up.

“I know, but…maybe try a bit of everything?” Roman suggests with a hopeful smile and really, when Dean is met with such a face-splitting grin, he can’t possibly say no.

“Uh, alright, dude jus’ stop with that weird grinning.” He settles into the chair at the foot of the table, still thrumming his fingers nervously against his chest as his hubby pulls a chair up next to Dean.

“What do you wanna try first, baby, huh?” So sweet and kind, brushing Dean’s hair back with his fingers and giving him a much more gentle smile, patting his left thigh.

Dean surveys the table, nerves calming as he takes in the delicious scents swirling around the room, his stomach grumbling much to his embarrassment. He skipped out on lunch earlier to finish up a custom paint job and it’s obviously showing. “Um…m-maybe the soup there?”

He reaches out for it, expecting to simply munch on it on his own, but Roman stands up and gets it himself, taking the spoon next to Dean and scooping up some. It’s piping hot and smells absolutely delectable. “This is Sua l’a…fish soup, basically.”

Oh, Dean can see the fish in it and his mouth his absolutely watering, so distracted by the delicious spices and the smell of the boiled fish that he doesn’t fully register the fact Roman has the spoon right near his face, hell bent on spoon feeding him. God, he can already feel his jeans tightening. If it wasn’t for the honest and hopeful expression on Roman’s face he would have already made a run for it. “I can feed himself, babe.”

“I know you can.” Roman says softly, before blowing on the spoon to cool the soup down. “But you’ve had a long, hard week. Always overworking yourself. And I’m going to treat you in every way possible and there’s nothing you can say about it.”

“But!”

“But nothin’.” The older male grins, before Dean reluctantly opens his mouth for the spoon. The burst of flavors are so foreign and otherworldly, better than even the Samoan dishes Roman’s family prepared for their wedding. Maybe it’s the love that went into making it, but regardless, Dean eagerly eats up all that’s on the spoon. And then another spoonful, and another. Until the entire bowl is empty and he can feel the last bit of the warmness of the broth and tenderness of the fish slip down his throat.

He’s a sloppy eater, usually is when they’re at home and in private, so Roman takes a napkin he has tucked away in the pocket of his apron and rub the messy bits from Dean’s thin lips. “’s…really good, Ro…” Roman chuckles at that, finding it rather peculiar how complacent Dean’s being and the redness of his cheeks.

“I’m glad, baby boy, you like it?”

“Mmhmm.” He pauses for a moment, looking down at his hands. That was a massive bowl of soup, but Dean really would like to try more of the dishes in front of him. He’s pretty sure Roman just wanted him to sample a little bit of everything, but there’s a bizarre bit of giddiness boiling deep in the base of his stomach and spine, something he’s tried to bury down for a while, but just can’t seem to care when all these delicacies are laid out before him. “C-Can I try that? Wha’s that?”

Roman picks up the Panikeke, the cherry mixture on top of it dripping down against the doughnut-like pastery. “This is Panikeke, sorta like a doughnut.” He offers it up to Dean’s mouth, his husband instantly devouring it in just a few bites. He’s never seen Dean with such an appetite before, but he’s tickled pink and absolutely flattered that his cooking is doing this to him. And maybe, well, he’s a little turned on, especially since Dean is licking remnants of cherry off the pad of his thumb. “You like that, huh, baby? What else do you want to try?”

Dean is rubbing at his stomach, but seemingly still eager to eat as he chews up and swallows the last bit of the pastry, eyes darting across the remaining spread. “’m…uh…’m not sure…you pick?” He sounds so goddamn breathless.

He goes for the chicken piccata next, deciding it was time for an Italian delicacy. He’s a little more rusty on that side of cooking, but as he cuts the chicken apart slowly with the knife and scopes it up with some sauce with a fork Dean makes a damn near pornographic face. Roman slowly slides it between his lips, his lover lavishing the fork with his tongue long after the piece of chicken has been swallowed. They move through the entire dish like that, Dean making a few noises of approval with each bite. “Tasty, love?”

“Good…really good, Ro. So fuckin’ good…” Roman simply smiles, before it dawns on him that he forgot a drink for Dean! He places the Keke pua’a in front of Dean. It’s a plate of 5 pork buns, so he doubts Dean will eat them all, and descends to the cellar determined to find a bottle of wine.

After about five minutes he settles on a sweet merlot, joining his lover who has managed to pound down three of the well sized buns. He’s hunkered over a little strangely, like he’s hiding something in his lap, but Roman figures it’s pretty unlikely one of their pets is eating any of the pork buns.

“How’s about some sweet merlot for my sweet boy, huh?” Roman chuckles warmly, fumbling a little with the corkscrew. He always did have a goddamn hard time with these stupid things, having broken more than a handful in frustration, but he manages to wiggle the cork out slightly before it pops, spilling a tiny bit of bubbles onto Dean. It’s not a bunch, but the older male still feels absolutely awful about it and the auburn haired male jumps back slightly. “Shit, babe, I’m so sorry!”

He kneels down, beginning to pat with one of the rags in his apron even as Dean tries to protest, to tell him it’s alright. “No, Ro, fuck, its okay, it…” Dean is hard. Absolutely, bulging jeans, straight up been at foreplay for hours hard. And he looks downright embarrassed, too, hiding his face in his hands.

Roman freezes, sliding his hand out of Dean’s lap and looking at him with confusion. I mean sure, he himself was…well, getting a little excited. Especially when Dean licked at his thumb. And the way those sweet chubby cheeks of his stretched out around every bite. And the sounds of him chewing. And knowing that Dean was eating the food he slaved over all day.

Shit.

When did he get half hard himself?

“Baby, it’s, hey…hey, it’s okay…”

“No, dude, man, s-stop…’s weird.”

“What’s weird?”

“This! This is fucking weird!” Dean gestures wildly for a moment, hands alternating between the delicious meals still waiting to be devoured and his obvious hard-on. “N-Normal people don’t get fuckin’ hard from eatin’!”

Roman chuckles, running a thumb along Dean’s jawline and swiping off some stray sauce and giving the joint of it a wet and long lick. “Since when was my baby boy ever normal, huh? Didn’t marry you cause you’re…’normal’.” A soft, loving smile and he gives Dean a gentle kiss to the nap of his neck.

“Oh, Ro…shit, babe…” He looks down shyly, lust still evident on his flustered face. “…I dunno, I jus’…you sure this is okay?”

“More than okay…” The older male hums, sliding a hand back against Dean’s crotch, giving the outline of his cock a gentle rub. “…you still hungry, baby? Wanna try these buns?”

The question is met with a rapid nodding of that auburn mop, Dean gasping out slightly as Roman gently glides the bun into Dean’s mouth, the filling bursting into his mouth as he gasps out. “So good, so…o-oh, fuck…”

Roman is still grabbing and groping at him, Dean squirming in dual pleasure as he trembles. As he finishes up the buns, Roman slips himself underneath Dean, the younger male straddling his lap. “How’s my big, strong, sexy man doing, huh? You full? You wanna eat more?” He asks, one hand kneading Dean’s stomach that must be cramping at this point, the other still palming his fully hard length.

The smaller male lets out a few burps, chuckling to himself before nuzzling into Roman’s neck all shy and relaxed. “’m so hard, baby…so full, but I think…shit, I wanna eat somethin’ else…somethin’ sweet.”

“How about a cannoli, huh?” Roman suggests, picking up the stuffed, sweet shell and offering it to Dean’s lips.

The smaller male moans, tongue lapping out to lick off some of the bits of chocolate before he takes a full bite, crunch of the shell and the creaminess of the ricotta causing him to moan even louder. “So, fuck…Ro…”

Roman simply smiles devilishly, unbuttoning and unzipping Dean’s pants effortlessly, getting the younger male’s length in his hand. “Go on, keep eating…want you to finish your dessert.

And Dean does, between shivering and gasping, hands pulling at Roman’s hair as the Samoan slips to his knees, taking his husband into his mouth. He’s already leaking, hard and wanting from Roman feeding him such delicacies, and he’s pretty sure the oral fixation that’s hung heavy since he quit smoking has helped with the erotic nature of it all.

Crunch, bite, munch as Roman bops his head effortlessly, thick lips stretched around Dean’s shaft and hands firmly on his waist, keeping him pinned to the chair.”G-Gonna come…oh, fuck, Roman….please!”

Long locks fall back as he angles his head up, grinning with a dark glint in his eyes. “Go ahead, baby…wanna have you come down my throat…wanna taste you…” He practically growls, before swallowing Dean back down.

One last bite of the cannoli and Roman sucks hard, Dean’s thighs shaking as the orgasm ripples through his entire body, coming down his love’s throat with a cry and the sweet pastry hanging heavy on his lips.

After a moment of catching his breath, Roman slides back onto his lap, leaning in and kissing him effortlessly. The salty tangy of his cum and the sweet creaminess of the cannoli fills both of their moves as their tongues hungrily explore. “Mmm, that’s my good boy…” Roman coos.

“You…you still don’t think this is…weird or…wrong?” Dean looks down almost shyly. “I mean it’s…n-not like a constant thing, b-but…when yer makin’ food for me an’ feedin’ it to me…it makes me really hot, y’know? J-Just…didn’t wanna freak you out.”

“Dean, when we got married we vowed to be with each other for better or worse, right?” Roman chuckles, leaning over and spooning up a bit of the Italian tiramisu. “Well, this is damn sure one of the better times, baby.”

And Dean easily eats the sweet treat off the spoon, Roman grinding heavily in his lap.


End file.
